


And I've got every slow dance saved

by pianoforeplay



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-18
Updated: 2011-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:03:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pianoforeplay/pseuds/pianoforeplay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tim and Lyla meet up in New York for Jason's big day and maybe a new beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I've got every slow dance saved

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through 4.07 and then ventures AU. Title stolen from Bowling for Soup's "Ohio (Come Back to Texas)". Initially posted [here](http://pianoforeplay.livejournal.com/29247.html) on 12/26/2009.

The flight is uneventful and Lyla's waiting for him in baggage claim, standing in front of carousel eight with her arms crossed over her chest. She's in jeans and a dark jacket, hair up in a ponytail. She looks exactly the same.

"You should really get a cell phone, Tim," she says when she sees him. But her arms drop and open and she pushes up onto her toes to wrap him in a hug.

"Why?" Tim asks on a low laugh, one arm secure around her middle, back bending as he lifts her a few inches off of the ground.

"Oh, I don't know," she says, still smiling when he sets her back down. "Maybe because it might've made it a little easier on me?"

"Found me, didn't you?"

"Why do you always have to make things so difficult?" She pokes his side and leans into him and he rests a hand at the small of her back. It's an easy fit, still comfortable and familiar after all this time, all that's changed.

The circular conveyor belt spits his bag out ten minutes later and he picks it up along with both of hers as she leads the way outside, to the line of waiting taxis.

"Have you talked to him yet?" Lyla asks, wind whipping stray strands of dark hair across her face as Tim helps the driver load up the trunk.

"Jason? Not since last week. Why?"

"Well, you know he said no bachelor party, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Tim says, his grin is slow and easy as the driver slams the trunk shut.

:::

"I said no party, Tim," Jason says when they get there, hunched forward in his chair and nearly-almost-kind of fighting a smile.

Tim grins and shrugs. Says, "Alright. So it's not a party."

"Tim."

"It's just a few drinks, Jason," Lyla says, smiling as she kicks lightly at his wheel. "Just us. Come on, it'll be fun."

Jason looks between them, from Tim to Lyla and back. "I can't," he says finally, all grim determination. "I gotta, you know. I need to be clear-headed tomorrow. Can't be still half-drunk or hungover or... it's a big day for me, Tim. And just-- I can't ruin this for Erin. After everything we've built, everything she's given me, I can't just--"

"Dude, chill," Tim says, lips twitching into a smile. "You're makin' this into a way bigger deal than it's gotta be."

"No, I just know you."

It's not malicious and Tim only laughs, hands stuffed in the front pockets of his jeans. "Yeah, and you know I ain't about to let you piss away your last night of freedom."

Jason glares at him, but Tim notices the twitch of his lips at one corner.

"C'mon," Tim continues, nodding back over his shoulder. "They got beer in there. Good music. Hot women." Lyla rolls her eyes and Tim only smiles brighter, leans down closer with his hand on Jason's shoulder. "Seriously, man. Just relax and have a good time, alright? You can go back to bein' all uptight and shit tomorrow. I won't stop you. But we got one more night right here. You, me and Lyla. Let's make some memories, Streeter. For old time's sake."

Jason's still eying him, clearly weighing the arguments for and against. Tim just smiles; he could easily stand here all night if that's what it takes. Or maybe just carry Jason in there against his will.

But then Jason sighs, muscles relaxing as he flips off the brakes on his chair and wheels forward. "One hour, Riggs. That's it."

Lyla smiles at him over the top of Jason's head, small and secretive and warm, and Tim reaches out to take her hand as they follow Jason inside.

:::

There's a girl tending the bar in a black tank top and cowboy hat and well-fitted denim jeans. Her name's Tina, originally from Toledo, Ohio, currently attending NYU, and she's been hitting on Lyla all night.

Tim and Jason both find it hilarious.

"Shut up, it's not funny!" Lyla hisses, smacking Tim's arm and then laughing as she tries to duck behind his bulk. "It's not-- I mean, it's _flattering_ , but she's not--"

"You ever try it?" Tim's not drunk, but pleasantly buzzed and the words come out only a little slurred. "You know. With a girl."

"Tim!"

"What?" he asks, grinning against the rim of his beer bottle. "That's what chicks do in college, right? Sexual exploration or whatever."

"No, actually, most go to class," Lyla says. "Which you would _know_ if you'd actually stuck around at yours for longer than a week."

It's a tired jibe and Tim only shrugs, swallows back a long drink without a second thought.

Jason nods beside him, says, "Penthouse lies, man," with definite remorse and Tim nearly snorts beer straight out his nose.

"You know," Lyla says, pitching her voice loud enough to be heard over their laughter, "if anything was going to make me consider going for girls it's dealing with you two jerks."

"That's some big talk, Garrity," Tim says. "Sure you can back it up?"

Lyla arches one perfect eyebrow, head tilting. "Are you challenging me?"

"Absolutely," Jason says before Tim can even think to consider it.

"Really," Lyla replies, lips pursed.

"Hundred bucks," Jason continues and then leans down, reaches into the pouch between his legs to pull out his wallet. Starts slapping twenties onto the table one by one as Tim glances over at Lyla, watches her expression shift from doubtful to appalled to determined.

"Fine," she says when Jason finally stops at five, slams down her beer and gets to her feet.

Within seconds, she's across the bar, Tim and Jason both watching intently as she gets Tina's attention. They exchange a few words and Tina nods a couple times and then Lyla's reaching up and leaning over the counter and just laying one on her. Right there. Right in front of everyone.

"Holy shit," Jason says on a quick laugh and Tim echoes it with his own, surprised and amused and, hell, more than a little turned on. They watch for a moment in silence before Jason adds, "That girl, Timmy. She's... somethin' else."

Tim answers only with a smile, tips his beer up to his lips as Lyla and Tina continue putting on a show. People start whistling and cat calling and the girls pull away from each other. Tim finally looks over at Jason, says, "Yeah. She is."

And Jason arches an eyebrow, but doesn't stop grinning as he stares at Tim. Assessing.

Tim's never waited for permission for anything in his life. Never needed anyone's blessing. But when Jason gives a singular nod, his eyes warm and content and maybe even a little hopeful, Tim gets the feeling that's exactly what it is.

:::

He has a headache in the morning, dull and insistent behind his eyes. Nothing he can't handle.

Lyla's up before him, walks out of the bathroom with one towel around her middle and the other piled high on her head. She slaps his thigh as she passes, says, "Come on, Tim. You have thirty minutes."

Thirty minutes is twenty more than he needs, but he doesn't argue as he peels himself from the sheets and wanders into the shower. Bathes, shaves, brushes his teeth and gets dressed while Lyla does her make-up.

Mr. and Mrs. Street are already waiting at the church when the arrive and Mr. Street grabs his hand in a warm shake. Says, "I've always said you clean up real nice."

Tim grins, hair falling over his eyes. Says, "Yes, sir. Even showered this morning and everything."

They talk for awhile, but there isn't much to catch up on. Mrs. Street already looks close to tears as she pats Tim on the cheek and pulls him in for a hug, holds tight like she doesn't want to let go.

They tell him where Jason is, off in a room a ways past the sanctuary. Jason looks up with a start when Tim walks in.

"How many people here so far?" he asks and Tim arches an eyebrow, his smile fading as he notices the line of sweat leading from Jason's temple to his chin, the way he keeps fidgeting with the cuffs of his dress shirt, fingers curled and twitching.

"Just a few. You okay?"

Dumb question, but Jason only snorts a quick laugh and shakes his head. "No, yeah. Yeah." He looks down and Tim looks with him, sees the tips of Jason's cowboy boots -- black with grey stitching -- peeking out from the hem of his dark pants. Jason's hands curl over his knees then, clutching and smoothing and, when he glances up again, he meets Tim's eyes straight-on, his smile slow and genuine. "Yeah, I'm good. Ready to do this."

"Good," Tim decides, sucks in a deep breath as he steps forward and adjusts the lapels of his jacket. "'Cause this suit's makin' me itch, man. Let's hurry it up."

:::

As Best Man, Tim has to give the first speech. He doesn't think to write it out ahead of time, just stands and holds up his wine glass and speaks the truth. He talks about his best friend, the one guy in all of Dillon who ever believed in him, the one who beat him up when he needed it, partied with him, laughed with him, got drunk off his ass with him and sang horrible karaoke at him. The one who forgave and forgot and didn't give up, the one who stood for both of them even after losing his legs, the one who made him realize for the first time that there can be a life outside Texas.

It's not exactly eloquent -- Tim's never been very good with words -- and mostly he's anxious to get to the drinking, but Jason's smiling at the end of it, eyes a little glassy and Lyla squeezes his hand when he sits down. Says, "That was really nice, Tim."

So he doesn't think he fucked it up too badly.

Later, after Lyla catches the bouquet, she knocks into him on the dance floor and, laughing, wraps her arms around his neck.

"So I've been thinking," she says as Tim's hands settle on her sides.

"Uh-oh," Tim says, teasing. "This about last night?"

"A little," Lyla answers, playing along.

"Shit, I knew that was a bad idea. You got a date with her now, don't you?"

"Tina?"

Tim nods and pulls her closer, so that their noses touch and he can smell the way her shampoo and perfume mix together, light and fruity.

"Well, she _is_ a really great kisser," she says and Tim groans, playing it up as Lyla laughs and then shakes her head, their noses bumping briefly. "I've been thinking about next year. After I graduate."

"Mmm," Tim says. This part is familiar, the start to a hundred conversations that always end the same. In one two-syllable word. But he's warm and happy from good beer and good company, too content to argue. So he listens as they drift across the floor off the beat of the music.

"The job market is still brutal and you have all that land to work on..." she continues, flower petals from the bouquet tickling the back of his neck. "Was thinking you could probably use some help."

Tim learned a long while back how fruitless it is to get his hopes up, how hard the disappointment hits, how steep the fall when they get too high. But that's never really stopped him. He cocks his head to the side and tries to fight a smile, studying her carefully.

"That right?"

"And you're gonna need someone who knows their way around finances if you ever plan on getting any animals."

"I've got animals."

"You have _a_ cow. One."

"He has the personality of many."

Lyla laughs, quick and bright and then leans in closer, their noses bumping again. "Do you know what I'm saying, Tim?"

He's holding nearly all her weight now, one hand stretched wide across the small of her back as she stares into him. He knows and, for the first time in a long, long time, he _is_ afraid to hope. The fall this time would be debilitating.

"Tim," Lyla says, pulling back slightly when he doesn't respond, a crease of worry between her eyebrows.

He thinks of the night before, an evening out with the two people in the world he loves more than anything. More than himself. He thinks of the devastation in Jason's eyes years ago, the utter betrayal. Thinks of the slow, reluctant acceptance afterward, the undeserved forgiveness. He thinks of Erin and Noah and the life Jason's built with them, the family they've created beyond the one Jason will always have back in Dillon.

He thinks of the way Jason had looked at him, warm and hopeful and knowing, reminiscent of a million drunken nights around a bonfire in the middle of Texas. A lifetime ago, but still so clear.

And he smiles. Lifts a hand to brush the hair away from her face, answers the question with a press of his lips.

:::

Jason drives them to the airport the following afternoon, Noah flirting with Lyla in the back.

"Gimme a call when you get in," Jason says, car idling at the curb. "Both of you."

"Almost forgot how bossy you are," Tim says, grinning as he steps out.

He grabs his and Lyla's bags out of the back while Lyla says her goodbyes, the driver's side door open so she can hug Jason, kiss his cheek and forehead. Her eyes are a little wet when she pulls away and Tim lightly touches her hip as she steps back into him.

"I'm really glad you came," Jason says then.

He looks like he wants to say more, but Tim smiles and ducks down to wrap an arm awkwardly around him, pats Jason's shoulder and waves at Noah in the back seat before straightening up again. "Don't be a stranger, huh?"

Lyla's at his side when the car pulls away and he runs a hand over her dark, smooth hair.

"I miss him," she says and Tim nods, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck. His agreement goes unsaid.

Soon, they'll walk through the huge sliding glass doors and check in -- him for Austin and her for Nashville. It'll be his fourth trip in an airplane, his third return to Texas, second time alone. But as Lyla's fingers thread through his, squeeze tight in a promise, Tim feels anything but lonely.

 **end.**


End file.
